


steal you away

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant's exit strategy goes to hell when his least favorite person in the world shows up in the middle of a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	steal you away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shineyma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/gifts).



> So shineyma posted an [amazing gifset](http://shineyma.tumblr.com/post/140517188837) and it gave me ideas. Sigh. Let's call this a late half-birthday present, shall we?
> 
> Also, written for MissMeggie's prompt: "Can I open my eyes now?"

“Now everyone,” Grant says calmly, “just keep quiet, don’t make a fuss, and you’ll all reach the next station without any trouble. All right?” He says the words to the entire train car but he directs them mostly to the booth third from the end on the left. That booth is _trouble_ and he aims his gun at it one last time - earning some terrified whimpering from those closest to him - before he steps backwards out of the car.

Wind roars in his ears. The narrow walkway between cars is open with only a rickety chain on either side to act as a railing. That pretty much guarantees he’s got privacy out here and he takes a moment to slip his gun into the holster hidden under his conductor’s jacket and touch his pocket to be sure the thumb drive is still there. (Can’t be too careful given a certain someone who happened to be in the same car as his target.) This little beauty is going to earn him a cool million, well worth the years his theatrics took off the lives of the passengers in there when things got a little too out of hand.

There are three cars between him and freedom - his exit strategy involves a parachute, an open field, and the caboose - but he doesn’t even make it all the way into car number one. It’s the same set-up as the last car - seats arranged restaurant booth style so groups can sit together and strangers are forced to stare awkwardly at one another - and a man halfway down the car is standing up just as Grant finally gets the door open. The man’s eyes meet Grant’s and both of them freeze, recognition slowing the moment for a second time on this damned job.

Antoine Triplett: a decorated US Marshall and Grant’s least favorite person on the _planet_. How the _hell_ did he know Grant was gonna be on this train?

Grant slams the door shut and twists the cheap handle out of alignment. It won’t hold long, but any lead on Triplett is worth the effort. He heads back into the car he just came from and immediately the still-shaking passengers scream in terror.

“Change of plans!” he yells, marching down the aisle while people fling themselves aside, fearful he’ll attack if he passes too close. He’s gonna need a new exit - and he’s also gonna need something to stop Triplett from shooting him on his way to that exit. Just the thing is sitting in the third booth from the end on the left. “Hello, princess,” he says with a wicked smile and grabs the arm of the pretty young woman trying to melt into the wall.

“No!” the man across from her yells. “Please! She’s-”

Grant would _love_ to hear the end of that statement - just what is Jemma Simmons to this old fart? Arm candy he thinks actually gives a shit about his boring stories? His long-lost daughter he never even knew he had? But whatever con Grant’s _other_ least favorite person on the planet (his luck really is shit today) is pulling on this train, he doesn’t have time to hear it. He spins around, bringing Jemma up as a shield at his chest and leveling his gun at the old man just as Triplett bursts in.

“You know I don’t have any issue leaving bodies,” Grant warns steadily.

“Okay,” Triplett says, holding up his hands. The old man jerks oddly at the voice, but Grant doesn’t have time to wonder about it. “Okay. Let’s just take a breath here, Ward.”

The old man lowers slowly back into his seat and Grant holds his shield a little tighter because he gets the idea she’s thinking of nailing him in the groin same way she did when she messed up that job of his in Boston. (His own fault, really; he should’ve known better than to set foot in Massachusetts again.) She owes him for that. And she makes a picture perfect hostage, so with her help he’ll be making it off this train without anymore bullet holes courtesy of Marshall Triplett over there.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, his lips pressed to her hair. She’s changed her shampoo since the last time, he’ll have to tell her he likes the new brand before they part ways. He backs them up, nice and slow. Only a few feet to the door.

“Jessie,” Triplett says in a tone of voice Grant has never heard from him in all their years of cat and mouse, “I promise you, everything’s gonna be okay. Just do what he says.”

“Oh?” Grant asks, suddenly curious. “You two know each other?”

Triplett winces and _Jessie_ tenses.

“Let her go, Ward.”

Grant lets his hand slip a little lower, palming Jemma’s breast. She stiffens in his arms and he _knows_ it’s not from disgust. He’s got some experience with her body - they may be rivals, but they’re very _attractive_ rivals with benefits - and if he knows her (and he does) she’s remembering that night in Seattle right about now.

“Ward!” Triplett barks, lunging a step forward. Grant calmly presses the gun to Jemma’s temple.

“ _Trip_ ,” she gasps.

It’s _Trip_ now? Seriously?

Triplett’s expression slackens and he backs up, lifting his hands again. “Okay. Okay. Just let her go and I’ll let you walk. I _swear_ , Ward.”

Grant keeps them moving incrementally towards the door. “How do you know the Fed, princess?”

She makes a tight little sound that he knows from experience means she’s in the mood to kill someone, so he twists the gun at her temple to remind her who’s in control here.

“Come on, Jess. _Trip_ and I are old pals. No secrets here, are there?”

“She’s my fiancée,” Triplett says - which is just rude, Grant wanted to hear her answer. “Now, _please_.”

It’s a damn good thing the door is right behind Grant, it gives him the excuse he needs to tamp down his emotions. He lunges back, Jemma still in his arms, and slams the door shut. He catches a brief glimpse of Triplett tearing down the aisle after them when he jams this door too, but then his focus is on the relatively soft field flying by next to the train.

“ _No_ ,” Jemma says, digging her nails into the hand he’s got under her breasts. It’s hell keeping her pinned while he works to get his gun safely back in its holster for this next part. “You’ve got your exit, just let me _go_.” She actually sounds scared, like maybe that little plea back inside wasn’t an act.

The train rumbles around a bend and her fighting turns to clinging as the angle forces their little landing out over open air.

Right. He forgot she had a thing about heights. That job in San Paul was murder on his eardrums.

“Just close your eyes,” he says while he unhooks the chain on one side. Triplett’s hammering at the door, too freaked out to get it open. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Grant, plea- _ahhhhhh!_ ”

The world blurs around them. The train falls away and the ground rears up below. He hits first, taking them into a roll that ends when his ribs hit the trunk of some fruit tree. They’re in an orchard, which isn’t ideal, but it’s better than the field he’d planned on. Better cover.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Jemma asks after several heartbeats. She’s curled up against his chest, shaking like a leaf. _This_ is the elite forger and con artist wanted on three continents.

“Yeah,” he says, letting his head fall against the soft earth. It wasn’t his worst landing ever.

Jemma slowly relaxes, lifting herself up to look around. The train’s long gone, but it won’t take Triplett more than a few minutes to have the authorities breathing down their necks. They’ve gotta make themselves scarce and he says so.

Her eyes blaze and she smacks him. On the _face_. He needs his face! He uses it for cons!

“You mean _you_ have to make _your_ self scarce! _I_ am the hostage, remember?”

“Seriously?” Grant asks and reaches up to slide his hand along her hip, down to the edge of the conservative skirt she’s wearing. He’s always liked jobs where she wears skirts. “You’re gonna choose stick-in-the-mud Triplett over me?” He sure was gone on her, wasn’t he? Looking back, Grant’s ashamed he didn't recognize Triplett’s fear and concern as stemming from something a lot more dangerous:  _love_. He wonders if Jemma was looking back at him the same way and tries to remember the inflection she used on his name.

She’s never said Grant’s name like that.

He can see her pupils dilating, but she remains firm, pushing out of his grasp and to her feet. “I’m going to choose my _job_ over you, yes. So you’d best run along before he gets here to rescue me.”

She sounds pretty damn certain he will, that he’ll ride in like some knight on a white horse to save her like she’s a real princess and not some con woman who once pretended to be one. 

He follows her up and, before she can pace more than a few steps closer to the tracks, catches her roughly by the arm.

“All the more reason you should come with me. Triplett won’t buy me letting my hostage go, especially when I know how _valuable_ she is to him.” He emphasizes the statement with a thumb trailed over her engagement ring. Who knew they paid public servants so well?

She snatches her hand back and looks down the tracks like she’s thinking of following them to the next station. He rolls his eyes and checks his pocket for the thumb drive - still there, thank God, he’d hate to get caught on his hands and knees looking for it in the dirt - and his holster for the gun before heading for the trees.

“All right,” he says casually. “I just figured you’d want to be there when he and I meet up next. Not many woman would leave their fiancé and their ex in the same room together - there’s no telling what we’ll say to each other - but if you wanna live on the edge…”

He makes it past two trees before she’s marching past him, shoulders stiff with fury.

“I should’ve shot you in Ontario,” she mutters.

He smiles at her back while he speeds up to keep pace. “Missed you too, princess,” he says and bites back a laugh at the way she bristles. Her hands actually curl up into claws like she’s thinking of gouging his eyes out. 

Pain in his ass she may be, but he does always have more fun when they run into each other. 

 


End file.
